


The After Party

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: The Night Manager (TV), The Night Manager - Jean Le Carré
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Event organiser Charlotte gives into her curiosity about the hotel night manager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Charlotte watched her event unfold from behind an ivy-strewn trellis. Had it only been two months since this prestigious London hotel had hired her to co-ordinate the Midsummer Ball? It felt like the stiflingly hot eight weeks had dragged on forever.

She sighed with relief as the band struck up a waltz bang on time. On the rooftop dance floor, couples waltzed, laughing and talking, save a few who clung to each other, swaying softly to their own tune.

It was after nine, and all the important points of the event she'd organised had gone off without a hitch. She should relax, but she couldn't seem to slow her pulse. Events did this to her. She loved the excitement, but the stress always seemed to go straight to her veins.  
A flash of movement in the corner of her eye made her turn.

A tall man stood smoking at the corner of the rooftop. She must have made some noise, because he turned slightly and glanced at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his serious mouth.

Charlotte recognised him as Jonathan Pine, the Night Manager. She'd often seen him come into work just as she was leaving for the day, a blue chambray button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, jeans hugging his narrow hips and encasing his long legs. 

She couldn't reconcile that man with the one who faced her now. He was all business, his honey-brown hair smoothed back, wearing an immaculate black suit and a crisp white shirt accentuated with a red blood tie, knotted neatly.

She had noticed him earlier, downstairs, serving coffee to a couple of older guests, the perfect picture of refined charm and politeness.  
His blue eyes looked flinty in the growing darkness as he studied her. The tip of his cigarette smouldered. The contrast of the cigarette with his smartly pressed suit stirred something in her belly.

“Hey,” she said lamely, because he'd seen her now, and she felt she had to say something.

“Hey.” He smiled slightly, looking so cool – so unruffled. His jaw was very slightly scruffy. She wondered how the stubble would feel under her palm. On her thighs.  
Charlotte had a sudden urge to ruffle that pile of gorgeous hair. To pull on the lapels of his shirt, pop a few buttons, and see what it might take for him to lose his cool.  
To lose control – with her.

She swallowed.

“It's great,” he began, stepping towards her. “Your event. The guests are enjoying themselves.”

“I'm glad.”

His gaze moved down her, and then, as if he'd caught himself, snapped back to her face. “And you? Are you enjoying yourself...”

“Charlotte.”

Jonathan dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it. “Miss Charlotte.”

The formality of his address both flattered and annoyed her. He was so – British. She found herself, perversely, wanting him to come totally undone.  
At her hands.

“Can I get you a drink?”

She struggled to smooth over her disappointment. He was in work mode. She could forget any hopes of romance, fleeting or otherwise.

And why shouldn't he be in work mode? This was work. Her job as the event organiser might be over, but Jonathan had a life here. Probably had a family.  
Her crush on him was neither here not there. She pushed it aside. 

“A mojito would be perfect. Thank you.”

His gaze held hers for a hot second, then he nodded. “I'll be right back.”

She watched him go, his shoulders moving underneath the well-cut suit. Her pulse rabbitted, half hoping that he'd come back.  
Half hoping he wouldn't.

Whilst he was away – was he mixing her drink himself? She pictured him chopping the mint leaves, measuring out the rum. Wondered if he would think about the line of her throat as she swallowed, whether her lipstick would leave an imprint on the rim of the glass.

She leaned on the stone balustrade of the rooftop and looked out across London. Looked at the lit windows and the smaller, pinpricks of light, faraway streetlamps.  
Her previous life was out there, with her previous lacklustre boyfriend. She'd left him for the glamour, verve and beating pulse that was London. And she'd never regretted it.

Nor had she felt a single stirring of passion. 

Until tonight.

“Miss Charlotte.” 

She turned to see Jonathan standing behind her, one hand supporting a round silver tray. A tall glass stood on it, bursting with mint and crushed ice. She curled her fingers around it, and, lifting it to her lips, took a sip. “Thank you.”

She felt his gaze on her the entire time.

He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. Placing the tray on a nearby table, he came to stand by the balustrade with her.  
“What were you going to say?”

Jonathan searched her gaze for a moment. “Only that... you're here all alone. You don't want to enjoy the fruits of your labours?”

Charlotte took another sip of her cocktail. “I'm enjoying not having to run around after anyone. Enjoying not having to cart around metal pull-up banners. Or string fairy lights. Or check whether the vintage popcorn machine will have more than three flavours.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I would have thought that sweet and salted would be sufficient.”

She returned his smile. His blue eyes were warm now, and she wished they were anywhere but here.

“As for being alone.. I'm not alone.” She held his gaze. “Am I.”

“Would you like me to go?”

He would, she knew. He would disappear into the hotel, and turn his warm blue eyes on someone else.

He would walk away in that sharp suit, and she'd go back to watching him ghost around the hotel corridors, go back to thinking about his kind eyes, his reserved smile, and wondering.

“No. I want you to stay with me.” She swallowed, tasting the crisp tang of desire on her tongue.

He raised his hand, warm and slightly calloused, to cup her cheek. Fire shot through her at the unexpected touch.

Behind the beautiful ivy-wrapped trellis, they were almost cocooned in their own little world, separated from the party. From any interruptions. 

The little mouse of desire skidded down Charlotte's spine, and she placed her mojito on the wide stone balustrade. Behind them, the band struck up a slow tune, deep, sweeping, notes. Jonathan searched her gaze, a question on his handsome face.

Charlotte grabbed the lapels of his suit and tugged him towards her. He smelled of crisp mint, and desire overrode her hesitation. 

She kissed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get a bit smuttier.

She wanted this. The taste of him. Wanted to experience the hot heaviness of his kiss, his touch.

Jonathan kissed her for what seemed a delicious eternity, breaking every so often to touch his lips to her cheek, her jaw, her neck, the place where her pulse beat an increasingly ragged tattoo.

When she fisted her hand in the back of his jacket, silently wanting more, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her on to the wide stone balustrade that edged the balcony, eliciting a gasp from between her lips.

The stone was warm against her behind after the long, hot day. Charlotte curled her arms around his neck as he moved between her legs. Impatiently, feeling wild and not at all like herself, she hiked up the long skirt of her dress to allow him better access.

He assisted her, his hand siding up the smooth skin of her thigh, brushing aside the delicate organza skirt of her gown. It might rip tonight. It would be worth it.

“Fuck,” he whispered, but the expletive sounded sexy in his crisp accent as he rasped it against her neck. Her pulse rabbited. She was a hot mess.

But, unfortunately, she was not so far gone as to forget that many other people milled around in the crowd. Just feet away.

“Not out here.”

He chuckled as he leaned in to kiss her again. “No. Out here we're just fooling around like a couple of tipsy teenagers.”

She smiled against his mouth. “So much for maintaining a professional distance,” she teased. 

"We can go back to that, if you prefer, _Miss_ Charlotte."

"I would  _not_ prefer," she stressed.

"Thank God. I'm too far gone for that." And he proceeded to show her just what he meant,  with a fiery kiss that made her head spin. Charlotte curled one of her hands in his hair, the silky strands stroking over her fingers. 

God, he was hot, and a force to be reckoned with. She got the instinctive feeling that you didn’t prepare for a man like Jonathan – you simply buckled in for the ride.

And oh, did she want to buckle in.

  
Desire pooled, warm and intense, between her legs, and she clung to him tighter, knowing that only he could assuage the terrible, terrible ache thrumming through her body.

  
As if he could read her mind, he bent and started to drop kisses down the length of her throat. She obligingly lifted her head to grant him better access.

He gently bit the curve where her neck met her shoulder and she gasped, caught halfway between pleasure and pain. He kept one arm firmly around her waist, while the other hand slowly made its way up her ribcage. When his thumb brushed the sensitive underside of her breast, her whole body tightened. _Yes_.

  
He thumbed the hard point of her nipple over and over until she thought she might explode from the force of her need. She heard an impossibly tiny mewling sound and realised distantly that it had come from between her own lips.

  
Her blood pounded in her head; her heart leapt as his mouth hovered close to the neck of her dress. She wanted his mouth on her. His hands. His tongue. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Just, for the love of God, let it be _now_.

 

* * * 

Her hips hit the bed and she moaned, her pulse racing as his hands worked on her. The brief journey to the room - so exciting, commandeering a room in the hotel, very naughty indeed - had only inflamed him. His impatience showed as he devoured her mouth, hands tugging away the sheer fabric which separated their bodies.

  
She heard the rip of the skirt of her gown but was too far gone to wonder how it would look in the morning. Her heart beat hard. She didn’t care about the morning. Only about now.

“I’ll buy you another,” he whispered against her neck as her dress slid off the bed, on to the floor, missed by neither of them.

  
He had no right to make promises like that, and she’d not hold him to them. Hell, they might not see each other again after this. At least, not horizontally.

She would move on to another events job, and he would move around soon enough. Her colleagues at the hotel had said Night Managers periodically moved locations every eighteen months or so. He wasn't permanent-boyfriend material.

Pity.

They hardly knew each other. Charlotte should have felt self conscious, clad in only her bra and sheer lace knickers. But for the first time in her dating life, she could only think: yes. More of this. Oh please, more.

  
He slid a hand into her hair, holding her still as he kissed her hard, the strong line of his body held still over hers. He hadn’t removed any clothes, and, impatient herself now, Charlotte dug her fingers under the edges of his suit jacket and pushed until it pooled around him and he shrugged it off, sending it the way of her discarded dress.

  
Next her nimble fingers worked on the buttons of his crisp, spotless white dress shirt. He held her gaze, his own burning, as she slipped buttons, one by one, through their small eyelets. Each button she freed revealed more of his lean, lightly muscled torso. He obediently lifted one arm and then another as she shoved the sleeves off him until the shirt fell on the side of the bed with only a whisper of sound. She smoothed her palms over his chest, revelling in the friction caused by the light spatter of golden chest hair she found there.

Emboldened by the fire in his blue eyes, she started to work on his belt buckle, unbuckling the golden clasp, and then sliding the thick leather through the belt loops of his smart suit trousers. Impatient, she pushed the loosened fabric down, stared down at the plain black boxers that greeted her.

She looked back up. A half-smile played on his face.

"If you've changed your mind.."

"Not on your life."

It was the right thing to say, because he slid down her body and pushed up the lacy cups of her bra. The first touch of his tongue on her nipple made her almost arch off the bed. The warm heat of his mouth enveloped her, and she lost all ability to think about anything except the erotic dance of his tongue on her skin. She arched her back, pressing herself closer to him. 

Jonathan drew back, gently lifting her shoulders to unclasp her bra and drop it to the floor. In the low lighting of the room, his face was cast half in shadow. His blue eyes looked dark, and the scruff around his jaw gave him a keen edge. Something in his face told her that she needed to be very careful around him - careful of her heart.

He was the sort of man who'd take it. And she'd never reclaim it all. 

Before she could dwell too much on this, he sent her a look that could only be described as completely wicked before he slid down her body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her abdomen. When he reached her underwear, he looked up at her again. His eyes were dark and she was completely captivated by the scorching heat in them. She was like a moth to the flame; couldn't have moved if wild horses tried to drag her.

He ran a finger along the edge of the lace of her knickers, back and forth, again and again, until she thought she was going to go totally mad.

"Come  _on_."

He grinned up at her. "As you asked so nicely." And he slid the underwear down Charlotte's legs, gently removing her heels as well. She watched through half-closed eyes as he removed the rest of his clothes, revealing long legs. A very touchable behind. A tempting erection. Her mouth went dry as a desert.

He made her warm again as he joined her on the bed, assuming his earlier position. He gently parted her legs, and the heat of his mouth on her sensitive inner thigh made her gasp. He rubbed his face over her tender flesh, and she laughed, half with a ticklish sensation, half with surprise at the sharp pinch of desire the movement stirred inside her.

When he put his mouth over her, she sighed his name out loud. He explored her carefully, learning what she liked, what made her body bow with sensation and need. When she came, shuddering, her fingers fisted in the soft white bedclothes, Jonathan gathered her in his arms, stroking her hair. 

She lifted her gaze to his. His blue eyes were warm, dancing with pleasure. She tangled her legs with his, wondering if they could stay cocooned in this room together.

Her romantic heart was making more of this than necessary. When he'd first kissed her on the balcony, she'd known it would probably be little more than a one night stand. 

Well, if it would never be more, she was going to enjoy it, and stoke the fire between them hot enough to remember for years to come.

Smiling, she slid her hand down his body.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My final chapter. Thank you for reading.

Charlotte watched Jonathan's blue eyes drift closed as she wrapped her hand around his erection. She smiled at his sharp intake of breath as she stroked him, learning what he liked by the catch in his breathing. She watched his handsome face as she explored him fully, testing the weight of him. He felt hot against her palm. When he began to thrust slightly into her hand, his breathing laboured, she bent and used her mouth on him.

His hips arched and she thrilled to be able to affect him so. She licked him like her favourite flavour of ice cream, breathing in his musky scent. It was a heady aroma, arousing her all over again as the little aftershocks of her orgasm began to fade.

"Stop." He slid a hand into her hair, squeezing the nape of her neck very gently. "I don't want it to end like this."

 _Maybe next time_ , Charlotte thought to herself. If there even was a next time. She acquiesced to his request, moving up his body to kiss him. Their tongues tangled and he yanked her flush against him. His kiss was eager, lacking the finesse of their earlier kisses, but his clumsiness made Charlotte's heart pound. He wanted her too much to try and play the suave seducer, and that turned her on more than anything else could.

Wanting to be in control, she moved to straddle him, bracing her hands on his shoulders. He settled his own hands at her hips, his arrestingly blue eyes meeting hers as she poised over him. Her internal muscles clenched in anticipation, and, without looking away from him, she very, very slowly lowered herself.

"Christ," Jonathan bit out as she surrounded him inch by painstaking inch. He felt amazing inside her, large and warm and solid, and she clenched around him. His hips jerked seemingly of their own volition, pushing him the rest of the way in.

Charlotte set a leisurely pace at first, wanting to draw out the pleasure for them both. There was no sound in the room except the rustle of bedclothes and the sounds of their breathing. Jonathan lifted a hand to her cheek and urged her to bow her head. When he did, he kissed her fiercely, and, understanding what he wanted, she moved faster, setting a punishing pace. He sucked in a breath and swore under his breath, his other hand gripping her hip tightly as he moved his hips to meet hers.

She was so close to the edge, and he seemed to know, dropping his hand from her face and easing it between their bodies to strum the sweet spot where they joined, caressing with a whisper-soft touch. Her whole being splintered as she came. She dimly heard Jonathan's hoarse cry as he followed her over the cliff.

* * * 

She woke in the dawn hours, her head pillowed on his chest, her hand over his heart. They lay tangled in the bedsheets. Early morning light eeked through a gap in the curtains and Charlotte shut her eyes, burying her face in Jonathan's warm body, willing the day never to come. Couldn't they just stay here a little longer, cocooned in this world of soft strokes and eager kisses?

Jonathan stirred and smoothed a hand over her hair, half-awake. She glanced up at his face, handsome in repose. She studied him, willing herself to remember every detail for tomorrow, when they would doubtless both move on with their lives, like two ships passing each other in the night.

Unless-

Unless they both took a chance. If they thought that the heat leaping between them could be more than just a momentary cocktail of hormones.

What would happen when he moved on? If he moved on?

She closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep, dropping off again just as his arm tightened around her in silent reassurance.

 

* * *

Two months later, Charlotte strode through another London hotel, putting the finishing touches to a wedding she was co-ordinating. The seat covers were in place. The band's PA system was hooked up and working, and the blushing bride had been shown to her suite along with her make-up artist and her mother, carrying a sleek white wedding dress bag. The hotel was abuzz with excitement.

She swung into the hotel reception office to check her email. Annie, one of the clerks, waved her over. "Charlotte. Letter for you. Recorded delivery. The postmark says... Egypt."

"Thanks." Charlotte took it, her brow furrowed, and sat down in the chair by her desk. She slit the envelope open.

A plane ticket to Cairo and a hotel compliment slip fell into her lap. She stared at both items in consternation, and then picked up the compliment slip, reading the loopy masculine handwriting:

_Your Move._

_Jonathan._

A slow smile curved her lips.

 


End file.
